Daughter of the Rice Farmer
by BlueStarlightWriter
Summary: What begins as a simple dynamic, a new life in return for shelter and bed, transforms into a love between the daughter of a rice farmer and the chosen Avatar in the Autumn of 121 AG. As Aang sheppards the flock of new Air Nomads into the Northern and Southern Air Temples, tempers rise as a mysterious cult threatens to undo the peace so readily warred for. Older Aang x OC


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Daughter of the Rice Farmer

DESCRIPTION

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What begins as a simple dynamic, a new life in return for shelter and bed, transforms into a love between the daughter of a rice farmer and the chosen Avatar in the Autumn of 121 AG. As Aang sheppards the flock of new Air Nomads into the Northern and Southern Air Temples, tempers rise as a mysterious cult threatens to undo the peace so readily warred for. Though kinship beckons union and their fates are fraught in the goodbyes of circumstance, _Daughter of the Rice Farmer_ is the journey of a young air bender brought to the brink of choice: between family and discovery. Her duty and her heart. As a tumbling, doe-eyed woman searching for a place to complete, and with the wary young man of a destiny drowning in the eye of a rising storm; will their love be as brief as the flicker of embers, or as faithful as the wind?

BOOK I

CHAPTER ONE: Oranges

Her flaw was expecting the mountain to sway to her feminine wiles just as the river boy had done down by the creek netting herran. All almond eyed and ruby lipped that the Rice Farmer's daughter was, with the fresh waxy lacquer of face paint whitening her complexion to the creamiest buttermilk.

It never did go quite as planned.

Petsihn watched the shrewd stall baron stare her down with his bristley arms crudely folded. "Flutter your lashes until the snows reach the inland if you like, girl," he said, itching the snub of his nose and catching the upturn of her lip with an arched brow. "The sale never changed from the last night. Six copper a piece, no bargaining."

"All that for fruit? That's double my earnings for the morrow, that is! Surely the taxes have not risen since I left town. They were only just settled!"

The baron wiped the sweat from his brow and thrusted a pamphlet into her hands. "New demands, I'm afraid. Heard there's been revolts in Ba Sing Se again. Fires, killings… farmhouses raided. More refugees'll be swamping the land soon enough. Suppose the taxes are needed if we have more mouths to feed."

Her lashes flittered over the laced script, small nose crinkling on the bridge and lips curling all the more downward, appearing from a distance like juice trickled down her chin. "And here I thought the Hundred Year War was over ten years ago. T'is hard to believe there's still infighting going on."

 _If only that meant more coppers for the rice fields,_ she thought, sighing into the paper. _Father would never be able to pay for more hands._

The baron raised a hand to the sky. Faraway the heaven streamed in plum and pink, with a setting sun withdrawing over crests of dells. "You better get home before evenin'. Your father would be worried."

The girl rolled her eyes at the comment, wincing when her haversack's strap dug too deeply into her shoulder. She loosened the straps as the inside clanked in colliding hammers and sickles. "Yes, more so that you'll let us starve before sacrificing a loaf."

Even when speaking her gaze lingered on the stocks of oranges souring in the swirls of flies. The scent of bitter lemon, then cinnamon were among the first to be sniffed when she entered Taishir through its lion gates and stone bridge. Even then, she had swallowed so thickly that she feared drowning. _Cursed taxes._

"I don't mean nothing by it, girl, but I have a family too. One less copper for me is one less ounce for them. I'm sure you'll find a way round it. Your like always do."

Yes, she vowed sullenly, throwing the parchment to the wind and taking the reigns of her shirshu, yanking his bridle away in a woollen grip. _Kayoshi spite you_.

It had been her fifth stall that afternoon who had turned her away. Petsihn guided her mount to a small local brook, caught between tangling bosai canopies that shaded the breadth of land beneath in crossing jians. Her collection of sacked oddities groaned when clouding dust on a dirt bed and her all too wary knees cracked in her perch on a carved stone stool, where shaded ladies in pretty green frocks and even daintier fans drifted ominously beyond her.

She observed their passing with an arched brow. _Tap-tap-tap_ their feet went, down stairways and through roads, as if the very beauty of a white complexion, blossom cheeks and lips so red they may as well have been swollen cherries, was not enough to catch the hearts of the entire town.

As her shirshu descended upon the open grass in a puff of shaggy fur, Petsihn twisted to her knees and turned to overlook the stream. Split into a braid of beaded locks, the wind stirred the stray ends of her hair like the fiery mane of an untamed lioness; all knotted and unruly, plumping her hair so profoundly that it was a wonder how the wind never blew her away.

Her frown deepened immeasurably so, creasing her soft face. The stream itself - a blue-green ribbon cornering only a fraction of the town - shimmered in the silvery sheen of fish scales lurking in the shallows. Her shirshu chirped at their splashes, flicking his tail back and forth when sunlight dazzled their reflections to ghostly spirits.

La and Tiu, she thought, having seen the spirits of moon and ocean on an old water tribe tapestry previously in the market. It was most likely still there, waving in an unseen current. _Another item I can not afford._

Petsihn raised a hand to her cheek, and tipped it back when a smear of eggshell powder scoured away the fakery of her makeup. A darker blemish liken to copper dulled her imperfect fresco.

To mimic the artistry of the Kayoshi Warriors may as well have been an attempt bound to fail. The likeness of such legends, even in play when circling neighbouring villages, could never truly be recreated. Even when she attempted it, her looks appeared askew and awry. Unlike the warriors whose ingredients were a guarded secret, hers was merely a mixture of stale flour and salt water. It would smudge in the rain, crack in the daylight. Even the berry juice brushed along her nose and browlines made her appearance somewhat crane-some, rather than the fierce tiger she had sought.

Petsihn ripped her haversack open and plucked the last remaining bread crumbs from the bottom. Her outstretched palm flipped _come hither._ The sudden whip of the air caught her mount's curiosity, and he sniffed the wind as if he could actually trace the scent back to her. Of course, he could not. The deformed flap of skin over the end of his star nose forbade it. The click of her teeth sent him into motion, plodding clumsily across the courtyard until his tongue lapped greedily at her hand.

She smiled, patting Roki's snout before nibbling into her own hand and watching the mid-afternoon play out.

Taishir was known across the eastern side of the island to be the foremost port and harbour for trade. Even as the sunlight faded into the western mountains, canoes drifted into the harbour carrying koi and salmon. Ladies from the shores crackled along the cobblestones with baskets of chattering cockles under their arms, while their children glinted in pearls threaded by twine into jewellery. Their own attempt of a finer life, Petsihn mused, that would never come to bare.

Farm wagons begun to be filled for a trek home across the hillsides. Ostrich horses were roped to cabbage carts; apple carriages; water wagons. One woman even led a milk cow with her son riding the haunch to a nearby smithy, where hammers continued to dam anvils; where chisels clinked in their quarter; where gravers scored metal between their toes until the very ping of a midnight gong and blades were hammered to the hilt, with steel rising from the surfaces of water troughs, smouldering from flame to white in the depths of a tile-roofed hut.

Then, from one corner of the courtyard, she saw a flutter of sun-cloth satire. The mantle of a chantry cleric whisking across a pathway to the town in the very musk of dusty scrolls. His feet tapped to a halt by a stall surrounded in tomes. Petsihn found herself leaning over the stool to see what he perused, although even from a distance, the faded cover of a historic tome extinguished that curiosity immediately.

She sighed, returning to her small meal. Until the shriek of broken wood and squawking roosters caught ear. A boy dashed across the road with flurries of feathers following suit. Face stricken in the sweat of trouble with a basket of oranges clinging to his underarm, an elderly merchant waved for the town guard, while the fruit in his company all seemed to squeak at once, _thief!_

He dove over balustrades metalled in iron lanterns dimly lit. He wove through orchards spun in peonies and splashed through ponds swamped in orchids, all in heading towards the bridge that would lead him across the brook. On the other side stood an ostrich horse by the stables, as if planned to be taken. But all that trouble was for oranges?

In the brush of Petsihn's hand air swirled beneath the boy, lifting his feet from the dirt for the breadth of a heartbeat. With the collapse of her fingers the air vanished, leaving the boy stumbling to the floor. The oranges toppled and rolled away. Petsihn plucked one by her foot, glimpsed around, and shoved it into her haversack. Her lips pursed in an innocent hum when the guards finally showed.

Drops of tears glistened on the emerald pai sho medallion of the guardsmens' armour as both men heaved the boy from the cobblestone. From the pale scars slashed across his bony arms to the grime marking his face as a black cloud, he must have worked for the mines.

Another man padded in lamellar jerkin unrolled a scroll from his breast pocket. His voice cut through the silence like it owed the local Thaig coins a plenty. "Under decree of the Earth King and his crowned people, you are hereby accountable for the unlawful act of theft. To be held in the dungeons until an enquiry can be judged, and if guilty, punished by the laws this act decrees. You, son of Li, are to be held for questioning again."

It was then that Petsihn noticed the missing forefinger on the boy's left hand. _Caught again for theft. The second punishment will likely be a hand, or a foot for penance._

The boy floundered in their grip. "I-I didn't do it, I swears to ya, masters! I swears, they just happened upon my hands, they did! A gift from the tradesman for an honest days work!" He turned to Petsihn, brown eyes wide and imploring. "Please, miss! Tell them I didn't do it. I'm begging you-"

A slap across his face sagged his shoulders. The guardsmen bowed her farewell and dragged the boy from the courtyard, towards the centre of the town.

An eerie chill caught the neighbouring orchards, causing her flesh to pimple beneath her gown. Still, she continued to watch the guardsmen until they rounded a distant corner, then pulled the orange from her haversack and begun to unpeel the outer layer with a shiv. Scents of ripe fruit had her mouth watering and gut slowly rumble. She had nearly taken a bite when a voice arose through the air like the calm shift of a sea current. It still had her stiffening beneath the bonsai trees.

"An interesting change of development, I see. Not often fate intervenes in such petty crimes." The monk's keen eyes roamed the distance as if a faraway memory, baring a scowl so profound it had the autumn leaves swaying warily above her.

Petsihn observed him cautiously, watching how the wind stirred the air symbols along his robes. She stiffened a little when he dared to sit beside her, pulling forth from his robe the same historic tome she had witnessed him peruse. He flipped to a page laced in text, donned a pair of glassed lenses held by a stem and slowly dragged a long, veined finger across the sentences.

"Yes, odd indeed, and in the most unlikely occurrences. If my eyes weren't as terrible as they where, I would suspect a level of bending was the cause of the boy's downfall. But who would do such a thing to help the law, hmm? Oh, certainly not the commoners. Oh no, such cannot be."

He slipped to another page and twiddled with the whiskers of his forked black beard. "What is your stance on thieves, hmm? Out of pure curiosity, of course."

Petsihn quietly rolled the orange in her palm, nipping the first peel before leaving the actual innard unspoiled. "I was born with honour, sir. Would never steal even when starving. Boys like that give us all a bad name. If they continue then the law might prevent us from entering Taishir at all. Then, I truly would be poor, like him."

"Ah, a labourer of love, you are! Why whip to the lawless ways when the strengths of tradition keep families growing? Hmm, a very wise sentiment. One many adhere to as well."

The monk eyed her orange with a kindly smile. He took the fruit as if offered and wiped the mud away with his cuff. "But, I wonder if the stolen fruit of one is not the shared steal of another? Matter of circumstance may have found it in your lap, but there is no question of the origin of such a boon. I also wonder if it was not the quake of the earth that shook that boy's timely advance, but the very air itself?"

He watched her mount's shift in focus, seeming to know the beast could sense the anxiety in its master. Still, he continued, shrugging the cowl from his brow to present a very bald scalp. Only, where hair had been shaved was a thick arrow of blue rising from the length of his neck to the very end of his hairline, just above his hook of a nose.

Petsihn scowled at the design of the tattoo, noticing though not being able to remember the meaning of such a mark. Fortunately for her, the monk explained. "You, my dear, are no earth bender. You do not have the stench of rotting foliage beneath your toes. No, you have the guile of an honorary soul, even if your ethicality is a little askew. And as the emissary that I am, it is terribly prudent of me to tell you thus: I think it might be time to leave this world of earth behind, and ascend to the clouds."

From the canopy leapt a winged ringtail lemur, causing Petsihn to shriek and it bat it away. The monk chuckled, petting the lemur along the wings even when it attempted to swipe her back with its tiny claws. "Now, now. Have no fear. She is no different to the beast you call a pet. But I believe she may be far more friendly."

"Friendly? That is a furry river-rat with talons!"

"Ah, but are not the best creatures the ones that look the most feral? Simu here is a most treasured friend, as I suspect yours is."

The monk regarded her for a moment, long enough for her to sense the cogs turning in his mind. Then, grass stirred in his rise. "It seems my time is nearing the end for this day. I must return to the Eyrie before the night is upon me, though before I do, I propose this; join me. I predict that you are part of a people slowly returning to the world. If I am correct, then there is a place far to the north that will cater to you and your studies. You will be fed, clothed, and provided the shelter of a fear-free life. You will know no hunger ever again, this I promise you. We are a respected kinship and no ties here shall follow you, nor crimes."

Though his expression did not alter, his voice adopted a kinder note. He eyed the orange held delicately between his forefinger and thumb as his lemur's tail fanned the flies away. "I'll come to visit you in three days. By then I trust you will have come to a decision." In a swirl of air the orange landed in her lap - bright, peachy, utterly unspoiled. He plucked a coin from his belted purse and slipped it into her open hand. "For the baron. Do keep the remainder for yourself. Oh, and the invitation. Do think it over, will you?"

He left under flowered archways, shifting through crowds of peasants, fishermen and traders with such fluency that a trained chevalier in the arts of river dancing may have had trouble following his lead. It was not long before he disappeared entirely into the sea of straw rags and flourescent cloths, leaving her alone, though not completely.

Lain across her palm was the silver glint of a pai sho tile. On its front was the emblem of a white lotus, while on the other was the symbol for the air element, depicted as three swirls. Noticing that the crest was the same design as the monk's robes, she was surprised to hear pages of a tome crinkling in the breeze where he last sat.

 _He did not take it with him?_

Her hands gingerly unfolded it in her lap. On the first page the same insignia was present, blotted in the finest ink.

Presented underneath in cursive lettering, however, was one title...

'The Last Airbender'

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A story I might one day make a novel with all Avatar references gone, this story takes place ten years after Aang brings peace to the world. Aang has managed to find clustered clans of air benders and those with a particular skill hidden away, and is attempting to recreate the lost art of air bending. This story is going to take place with a majority of OCs with only a twenty-two year old Aang and a few references peeking up. Also centres around Zutara having happened, but with Katara eventually returning to Aang later in life.

Hope you enjoy :) comments are welcome.

I have not watched the series in a long time and constructive criticism is always nice to hear.


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